


If Things Come Alive

by orbiting_saturn



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Dubious Consent, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 07:17:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbiting_saturn/pseuds/orbiting_saturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen winces and thunks his head back against the wall. "You're holding me for ransom, aren't you?"<br/>Jensen never really expected his father to pay, and somewhere in the back of his head, he saw this becoming the rest of his life. Nothing but one room and Jared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Things Come Alive

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** explicit sex, bare-backing, dub-con, situational bondage and d/s themes, mentions of forced prostitution, implied Stockholm Syndrome, age difference reversal. Contains pictures that are NSFW.

~*~*~

Stars dance behind his eyes and the air is short and heated when Jensen comes to. Nothing more than his own breath wuffing back in his face. It smells sour from drink and sleep, gusts moistly over his sweaty face. His eyes are dry and itchy, lashes fluttering open to reveal nothing but smothering _black_. Jensen squeezes them closed again, releases and, still, nothing but utter darkness. He shakes his head, blinks and blinks, but it doesn't go away.

There's a throbbing ache in Jensen's temples to accompany his blindness and he's woozy and disoriented. He opens his mouth to cry out, but his lips won't move, are stuck closed, and he only manages a groan from deep in his chest. It's then that Jensen realizes that his wrists are bound, his ankles too, and he can't fucking move. He can't move, can't see, can't fucking breathe and it's like some sort of nightmare from out of nowhere.

Jensen's awash in a full-blown panic, unlike anything he's ever felt, heart hammering, fear adrenaline pumping through his veins and breaking him out in a cold sweat. A high whine gets caught up in his throat, sound of a wounded animal and he starts thrashing, sucking panicked breaths through the too-narrow passage of his sinus cavity, burning hot. If he weren't already blind, Jensen's vision would be blurring now from the lack of oxygen. He twists at the cold metal cuffing his wrists, barely registers the way it cuts into his thin skin, only knowing that he has to get free.

Vaguely, Jensen hears past the pounding in his ears, someone calling out, "Jay! He's awake, Jay!"

There's a voice in the back of Jensen's head, it sounds a little like his father's, telling him to calm the fuck down, to get a fucking grip on his emotions, but he just _can't_. His body starts thrashing hard against his bonds, bucking under the desperation for oxygen that he just can't get.

"He's freaking out, Jay! Get in here!"

There's a thundering sound and Jensen can't tell if it's coming from in his head or not, but then there's a heavy weight on his chest, holding him down, forcing what little air he has out of his lungs. The shroud of darkness is yanked away from his face in a burn of fabric against his sweaty skin, sudden light stinging his watering eyes.

"He's hyperventilating," Jensen hears another voice. It's low, masculine and it wasn't until now that Jensen realizes that the other voice wasn't.

And not a second later, Jensen's lips come unstuck in a swift tearing that stings his lips and the skin around them. But the pain he can live with because now there's air. Jensen gasps it down and chokes on it.

"Slow," that male voice tells him, the pressure on his chest lightening considerably, stroking in soothing circles. The back of his head is cradled and held up, while he pants needy and feverish. "Calm down now. Slow breaths, in and out."

The voice breaks through Jensen's blind panic, melts into his chest suggestively and he finds himself slowly calming. Jensen forces his breathing down, blinks and squints against the sudden light that's causing his eyes to tear up. He drags in a long, shuddering breath and then another, over and over as the weight on his chest keeps circling smoothly.

"There ya go. You're all right now, just keep breathing," the voice tells him.

As his wooziness starts to fade, Jensen blinks away the moisture in his eyes and there's a dark shape above him, starting to take form. His wet lashes flutter, sparkling in the light, vision tunneling to include only the shape of the man hovering over him. Jensen's head is still pounding and muzzy, but the mist clears and he sees the face above him sharpening. Slanted eyes and dark hair slashing softly over his forehead, brows furrowed and thin lips pursed with concern. The man hurts to look at, too big and everything in Jensen's line of sight. He focuses instead on the little mole beside the man's nose, zeros in on that one point while his muscles lock up tight and then slowly release.

"Okay? Yeah, you're okay," the man says. And then the man is gone, pushing himself up and away from Jensen. There's another brief moment of panic when Jensen can't see him anymore, but he tamps it down, breathes hard through his gaping mouth.

"Whose brilliant fucking idea was it to put a bag over his head?" the man says.

"Who do you think?" a girl's voice answers, soft and somehow familiar to Jensen's ears. "He said we can't let him see our faces."

"Oh, yeah! Way better to let the kid suffocate to death. Real fucking clever," the man says, angry and sarcastic.

"Who the fuck are you people?" Jensen finally asks, voice raspy and a little bit choked. It resounds in his head, makes it throb low and angry. Jensen clenches his eyes against the pain while trying to wriggle his exhausted body into a sit.

"Get outta here. Let me deal with this," the man says, again addressing the woman who's somewhere in the room with them.

"Shouldn't we wait for Mi- I mean, for you-know-who?"

"Just _go_ ," the man tells the woman. "I got this."

The woman huffs, but only a second later the door opens and closes quickly behind her, clicking shut. During the entire encounter, Jensen never chanced to see her, with the way his eyes just won't focus right and the headache in his temples beats like a steady metronome. His panic is really only half gone now that he's realizing what a shitstorm of a situation he's in, cuffed and bagged, suffering the effects of a bitchin' hangover that Jensen is sure his three or four drinks last night can't account for. Drugged, then. _Fuck_.

Jensen is still trying to wriggle himself into a sitting position, heels scrabbling at the bed he's prone upon, but all he's really accomplishing is rucking down the cheap bedspread.

"Here, let me give you a hand," the man says and Jensen's attention is suddenly drawn back to him. And then the man, who Jensen can see is very large, reaches down and grabs beneath his armpits. Jensen tenses and just about struggles away, but then he's hauled bodily into a sitting position and urged back against the wall. As soon as he's situated, the man removes his hands from Jensen's person and backs away.

There's a mound of pillows smooshed into the curve of Jensen's lower back and his head is uncomfortably tilted back against the rough, beige wall. The man is standing at the side of the bed, one hand on his hip and head tilted down to look at Jensen, waiting, for some kind of reaction Jensen can imagine.

"Who are you?" Jensen asks, voice so rough it cracks at the end. His throat feels rough and dry and while he'd meant for his voice to come out harsh and demanding, it was really more tired and a little resigned.

The man tilts his head to the other side and a lock of his long brown hair falls into his eyes. The way he blows then brushes at the tickling strands is almost petulantly childish and Jensen has to wonder if his long hair is such an obvious nuisance, why the man doesn't simply cut it.

"You can call me Jay," the man finally says.

Jensen's head gives a nasty throb and a wave of irritation rolls through him. "I didn't ask for your fucking name. Who the hell are you and what am I doing here?!"

Instinctively, and to punctuate his meaning, Jensen rattles and twists the handcuffs around his wrists. The cold, hard metal bites into his skin and stings nastily the abrasions already there. For some reason, the pain only frustrates Jensen more and he ignores the burn as he continues trying to wriggle his hands out of the cuffs.

"Stop that," Jay bites gruffly and leans down to grab Jensen's churning hands. When Jensen doesn't immediately still, Jay releases one of his hands and closes one long-fingered hand tightly over Jensen's jaw. "I _said_ stop it."

Jay gives Jensen's face one firm shake that bumps his head lightly against the wall. "You're hurting yourself, Jensen."

Jensen blinks up at the man and licks his painfully chapped and bitten lips. He doesn't remember biting himself, but he must have when he was freaking out a little. "How- how do you know my name?"

Cautiously releasing his hold on Jensen, Jay seats himself on the edge of the bed. "There's a lot I know about you," Jay says slowly. "But what's most important is that you're the second son of Alan Ackles, majority share-holder and CEO of ARA Oil."

Jensen winces and thunks his head back against the wall. "You're holding me for ransom, aren't you?"

"That's one way of looking at it," Jay tells him and gives a bitter smile. It's a smallish smile that leaves just the hint of dimples in its wake.

"Is there another way of looking at it?" Jensen asks tiredly, slumping his shoulders against the wall behind him. He's distantly aware that after his initial response to waking up with a bag over his head, he isn't exactly reacting as he should. Maybe it's the drugs they gave him, or the headache, or maybe it's the fact his mouth is cottony and filthy tasting. Whatever it is, Jensen just can't seem to muster up the energy for a really good fit.

"Tell ya what," Jay says and slaps his hands against his thighs. The sudden motion of it makes Jensen jump in weary startlement, but the man doesn't seem to notice. "We'll do the sharing and caring thing after I find something to disinfect those cuts. I'm gonna lock the door after me, but don't get any bright ideas about trying to jump me when I come back in the room. There are two heavily armed men on the other side of that door with itchy trigger fingers."

Jensen tries to muster up a scowl, but Jay is already up and headed for the door. It's a little galling to have the other man turn his back on him so easily, but he imagines that he isn't posing much of a threat right now. Especially considering Jay has a few inches and at least twenty pounds of muscle weight on Jensen.

~*~*~

As soon as the door is closed and locked behind him, Jared takes a moment to lean against it with a sigh. His heart is hammering jackrabbit fast in his chest, his breathing finally speeding up after he'd forcefully tempered it while he was dealing with the Ackles kid. For three months this thing has been in the works, but none of the planning had prepared Jared for the nervous adrenaline rush of committing such an unforgivable crime.

Still, despite the slight hiccup with the panic attack, so far things are going better than Jared could have ever anticipated. He's not going to let his guard drop though, knows exactly what's at stake if he lets himself slip even a little. Misha warned Jared specifically not to underestimate the Ackles kid, even with his delicate prettiness and youth, even with his pampered upbringing, it could only take a second of pure luck and a moment of Jared being distracted for the kid to sneak past his defenses.

Their research into the youngest Ackles son revealed that he had been a star athlete at the snooty boarding school he went to and had just graduated in the top four of his class. He wasn't necessarily a genius, but Jensen Ackles certainly wasn't stupid either. Jared couldn't just rely on his size for intimidation with this kid and that was why Misha had chosen Jared for the job. His size was definitely a factor, the brute display of his height and muscled frame had a tendency to put other men instantly on guard, but it was his intelligence and easy demeanor that Misha felt Jared should rely on when dealing with the Ackles kid.

Jared is only the front line, Chris and Chad are his reinforcements waiting in the main room with tranq guns just in case the Ackles kid somehow manages slip past Jared.

Heart rate slowed to a normal pace and breathing under control, Jared pushes away from the door and swipes his fingers through the long strands of his hair. It's not just the threat of getting caught that has Jared's nerves prickling either. He simply hadn't been prepared for just how gorgeous Jensen Ackles is.

Misha had shown him pictures, some that even did the kid a lot of justice, but in the flesh, Ackles is even more arresting. The kid's all slender lines of pale, freckled skin, plush lips and startlingly green eyes, seemingly designed exactly to push Jared's buttons perfectly. At eighteen, the kid is still small enough to be delicate, even looks a bit more twinkish than Jared usually likes in his men, but there's the hint of compact muscle just barely hiding under the soft polo stretched over the spread of his shoulders.

In the throws of his panic attack, Ackles had squirmed enough to ruck up his shirt. The pale-skinned abs and cut hips arrowing down to the peek of Ackles' underwear waistband had punched Jared in the gut with a blast of unexpected arousal. Right now, Jared tries to shake it off. It won't do to get all worked up over his captive, especially since he's going to be spending at least three long days in the kid's constant and unrelenting company. Jared has never been the type to let his libido get the better of him.

Rolling his tense shoulders and taking one more fortifying deep breath, Jared makes his way down the short hallway in the small house they leased under an assumed name. Even with the AC running at full blast, the Florida heat seems to be sneaking in and permeating the air of the narrow space. The hallway opens up to a wide entryway that leads straight into the moderately sized living room.

Jared immediately sees Chad sitting back on the white loveseat, thighs spread and thumb tapping nervously against the hilt of the tranq gun resting in his lap. The constant jittering of Chad's thumb against the gun is the only thing revealing that his casual posture is completely forced. Chris is sitting on the matching couch, back to Jared, long brown hair falling over the collar of his open button-up shirt.

As soon as Jared looms up in the entryway, Chad's gaze lands on him expectantly. Chris catches the change in Chad's expression immediately and twists around. Pinned under two pairs of blue eyes, Jared stalls for a moment. "So? He giving you any shit?" Chris asks, throwing his elbow over the back of the couch.

"Not yet," Jared answers with a shrug before moving into the room and around the L-shape arrangement of furniture. "Where's Alona?"

As he moves, Chad and Chris shift around to follow him with their eyes. He sees Chad give him a negligent shrug to his question.

"What was the big idea, putting a bag over the kid's head? He freaked out. Almost hyperventilated."

"Tough shit," Chris responds brusquely, rough Texas drawl scraping out with clear derision. "I didn't want him to see our faces."

"Yeah, J.T.," Chad pipes in and Jared can't help rolling his eyes now that he's facing away from them. Chad's been Jared's best friend since they were in nappies, but for some reason he's been Chris' yes-man since they got involved in this kidnapping venture. Nevermind that it was Jared who brought him in on this. "You didn't let him see your face, did you?"

Jared makes his way into the kitchen, rounding the large counter that separates it from the living room. Before he can answer Chad's question, Chris interrupts him. "We're here to kidnap the rich, little douchebag, not molly-coddle him."

"Misha said not to hurt him. That's not what we're here to do," Jared tells them, snatching up the First Aid kit that's sitting on the counter amidst a sea of printed papers, photos and Misha's open laptop. He opens it up to rifle through and collect only what he's going to need to clean up the abrasions on Ackles' wrists.

"That fucking weirdo isn't my boss," Chris grumbles irritably and kicks one foot up on the coffee table.

"Well, since he's the only one of us to have ever done something like this, maybe we should listen to what he says," Jared snaps back.

Jared hadn't known Chris before Misha introduced them, isn't a hundred percent clear on how he got involved, but he imagines that Misha sought him out the same way he had Jared. He does know that Chris has a similar story to Jared's, lost someone close to him in an accident on one of ARA Oil's rigs. He also thinks that Chris is more in this for revenge than anything else, which makes Jared automatically distrustful of anything Chris says or does.

When Jeff died in the explosion, revenge was pretty much the last thing on Jared's mind. At first he was too consumed with grief to see anything past that. After the grief dimmed a little, it was the gut-wrenching worry that had Jared desperate enough to agree to the kidnapping scheme when Misha approached him. The worker's comp insurance policy provided by ARA Oil had refused to pay out on the basis of operator error and not an equipment malfunction that had caused the explosion.

The families of the men who died in the explosion were all offered the minimum payout of ten thousand dollars, which barely covered the funeral expenses, let alone the mountain of debt that Jeff had left for his pregnant wife and young son. It wasn't exactly that Jared felt responsible for his brother's family, but when this opportunity presented itself, Jared hadn't felt that he could refuse.

"Yeah, and that creepo's the only one of us who hasn't lost someone he loves to those ARA fuckers," Chris snaps at Jared. He's getting a little pink in his face now, probably from a combination of the heat and his anger. Jared attempts to ignore him while he busies himself with pre-snipping long pieces of gauze to bandage up their captive's wrists. "He's just some avenging enviro-hippie trying to stick it to the big oil companies for polluting Mother Earth or some shit."

Done with collecting the bandages and antiseptics from the kit, Jared starts looking through the cabinets for a glass as he shakes his head at Chris. "He's also a genius," Jared remarks a little dryly, sarcastically like it's no big deal.

"Yeah, well, if you and your boyfriend want that kid to I.D. you after this is all over, that's on you. Me? I'm keeping him blindfolded or bagged when I'm around him."

Filling a glass with crushed ice and water from the refrigerator door, Jared finally looks back over at Chris. "It doesn't matter if he I.D.s me. I'll be in the wind before he even gets picked up. My bag is already packed, man."

Chris gives Jared a slow smirk, lips pursing wryly and blue eyes narrowed. Jared thinks Chris would be sort of startling attractive if he wasn't such a prick. Not that the guy is even remotely into guys. He reads a perfect zero on Jared's Kinsey Scale. "You think the cops aren't going to find it a little funny that your brother's wife is suddenly rolling in dough after that kid makes you?"

Every muscle in Jared's body snaps tense with a rush of anger, but his glare gets directed at Chad instead of Chris. "You fucking told _him_?!"

Chad, who'd been trying to stay out of the argument until now, lets his mouth gape open stupidly. "Well, yeah. What's the big deal?"

Feeling grossly betrayed, Jared pulls out the hem of his t-shirt and sweeps the first aid stuff into the pool of material. Snatching up the sweating glass of water, Jared stomps out of the kitchen. "Do me a favor, Chad," he snaps as sweeps past him. "Don't tell this asshole anymore of my business."

~*~*~

Since the other man left the room, Jensen has been focusing on trying to remain calm. It's not as easy as he'd like it to be. When he was fourteen, Jensen had a session with a child psychologist to prepare him for the unlikely event of a kidnapping situation. Apparently it wasn't uncommon for people of a certain class and wealth to have their children trained in such matters. It's one of the things that Jensen has always resented about being an Ackles. Unfortunately, Jensen can't seem to dredge up any of the coping mechanisms suggested by the psychologist.

All Jensen has really managed to do is wrangle himself into what he feels is a less vulnerable position. He's upright, knees drawn up, back smashed into the corner where the bed is shoved up against the wall. He'd awkwardly tugged his t-shirt back over his belly and rubbed away the sleep crust from the corners of his dry eyes. Apart from that, Jensen hasn't really accomplished much.

The duct tape wrapped a few times around his ankles is sloppy, haphazard. Jensen can't find the edge though, to start picking it open with his short fingernails. With the right leverage, he could probably manage to rip right through it.

The room he's in is small by Jensen's standards, generically furnished and accessorized like a cheap hotel. It's a double bed he's sitting on with some poly-blend bedspread in a sea-green color that isn't altogether unpleasant to the eye. There's a mauve-colored chair in one corner, a low four-drawer dresser on the opposite wall beside the small sliding-door closet. Further down the wall that the bed is pressed against is a door that Jensen assumes leads into a bathroom. Two similarly messy paintings, a nightstand with a lamp and no windows. That was one of the first things Jensen noticed. No windows.

He probably should have gotten up and checked the drawers for possible weapons, gone through the closet or bathroom for anything he can use. It didn't really occur to him until now, but Jensen is honestly reluctant to leave the dubious safety of his cozy little corner.

Instead of attempting anything productive, Jensen sits and sorts through his murky memories of the night before. He'd been on vacation in Key West with a few school friends, celebrating their freedom and graduation. Having spent his entire high school career in an all-boys boarding school, Jensen never perfected the art of party-going. He gets uncomfortable in large crowds and his social awkwardness often comes across as prudishness or snobbery or both. So, before going out to one of the clubs, Mike had forced a couple of shots down Jensen to loosen him up.

The club Jensen and his friends had gone to was packed to the gills, everyone pressed body-to-body, all sweaty in the heavy Florida heat. Tanned girls with gleaming skin writhed and gyrated to unbearably loud, bass-heavy music pumping through the club's speakers.

A group of drunk girls descended on Jensen, Mike and Tom almost as soon as they squeezed up to the bar. One of them, a tiny blond thing in short shorts and a tank top singled Jensen out immediately, sidling up sexy and close, whispering her name right against his ear. Despite the anxiety of being hemmed in by such a large crowd, Jensen was pretty satisfied with the situation. Normally Jensen was uncomfortable talking to girls and the few times he'd been laid in his short life had been by forward girls who seemed taken in by his looks or wealth or a combination of both.

With the music blaring and the crowds surging, it made conversation with anyone close to impossible. Instead of speaking, Jensen let the girl feed him shots and grind herself in slow, rhythmic rolls against him. He has a vague recollection of the girl leading him out of the crowd, flashing sweet come-hither smiles over her shoulder. That's about where things start to get fuzzy, the girl's small hand clamped tight around his wrist, Jensen's head swimming and whirling and he had a brief realization that he was probably going to pass out before he got the girl's panties off. As it turns out, that's probably exactly what happened.

Jensen is snapped out of his thoughts when the door to the room swings open suddenly. He can't help but jump a little and squeeze himself further against the wall. Jay looms up big and tall in the door frame, nearly so tall his hair seems to brush the top as he enters the room. He's got the hem of his t-shirt pulled up in one hand, along with a glass of water. The other hand is empty, like he was keeping it free just in case Jensen tried something. It makes Jensen feel like such a pussy that he didn't even _think_ of trying something.

For some reason, Jensen's eyes go straight to the strip of bared abs and catch there. The guy is ripped. A new jolt of nervousness seeps low in Jensen's gut and he swallows thickly. When Jensen finally tears his eyes away from that patch of tanned skin, he finds Jay staring back at him with a quirked eyebrow and something like amused curiosity in his dark, slanted eyes.

Jay is a peculiar looking man. Jensen supposes he is inarguably attractive, not that he makes a habit of judging the appeal of other men. But Jensen thinks there's something about _this_ man's face, a combination of hard and soft, sharp angles and warm eyes. The way his lips are tilted into a faint smirk is almost boyish, but that's also incongruous with the heavy masculinity of his brow and jaw. It's an unsettling thing for Jensen to fixate on at the moment, but he can't really seem to think of anything else.

"Let's get you patched up," Jay finally breaks the silence. Stepping fully into the room and swinging the door closed behind him.

As Jay closes in on him, Jensen's breath catches in his throat. He has conflicting urges to shy away and scoot closer. The only explanation he has is that his head is still all muddled from the drugs and drink.

Jay's eyes stay on him when he gets to the edge of the bed. Transferring the glass of water into his empty hand, Jay lets the hem of his t-shirt drop and some miscellaneous items go tumbling to the bed. Jensen's glad that Jay's all covered up again so his eyes won't keep straying involuntarily to that exposed bit of skin.

The glass of water goes on the nightstand and Jay doesn't ask Jensen to move closer to him, just knees up on the bed and gets in his space like he owns it. Jensen can't flinch back any further, is already trying to melt himself into the wall, but when Jay's hands reach for his, he tucks them into the curve of his chest and kind of hunches over them.

"Hey," Jay says, reaching closer, but still not quite touching. "I'm going to clean those cuts whether you like it or not. Make it easy on both of us, huh?"

Jensen catches his lower lip in his teeth and gives his head an irritated shake. He's got to stop acting like a kicked puppy. So he reaches out his cuffed hands and tilts his head up to look Jay in the eye. Instead of meeting his eyes though, Jay is staring somewhere just south of there. With a start, Jensen realizes it's his mouth the other man is looking at and he licks them as a reflex. This close up, he can see Jay's pupils go wide and his jaw tighten a little. Neither of them comment on the strangeness of the moment, but Jay seems to snap out of it quick enough and gingerly takes Jensen's hands in his own.

Reaching behind him, Jay gathers up the bandages and packets he brought in. While he strips open an alcohol pad, Jensen decides he has to break the tense silence. "He's not going to pay you."

"You’re his son," Jay responds as he pushes the cuffs as far up as he can to get at the light cuts on Jensen's wrists. "He'll pay."

When the alcohol pad swipes over the first cut, it stings something fierce and Jensen sucks a breath between clenched teeth. "You'd have been better off taking my sister."

"No way we were going to take an eleven year old girl," Jay mumbles, focus mostly on swabbing Jensen's other wrist. "We're not monsters."

"No, you're just kidnappers," Jensen bites back.

Jay uses the alcohol pad to sanitize his hands before tearing open a small packet of Neosporin. "I'm not going to try to defend myself to you, kid. It's a shitty thing we're doing to you, but we got our reasons and it's more than just money."

Jensen opens his mouth to ask what those reasons could be, he closes it again on a wince, decides to let the subject drop for now. "Did you make the ransom call yet?"

"Not my area of expertise, kid. I'm just here to look after you."

"Stop calling me kid," Jensen snaps, watching as Jay's thick thumb rubs the greasy antiseptic over his cuts. "You're not that much older than me."

Jay's lips slip up in a small smile. "Yeah, I am. Maybe not in years, but in mentality I am."

The gauze goes on next, wrapped around a few times and deftly tied off. "Whatever," Jensen mutters.

Jay's smiles broadens all the way, white teeth a bright contrast against his deep tan. And there those dimples are, the ones Jensen was sure he saw hints of. "Good argument."

~*~*~

Jared has never been in charge of another person before. He's always had some small level of responsibility for his younger sister and has managed to influence Chad in some instances, but he's never been the end of the line. He's never had the opportunity to enforce his will on another person and it's never really occurred to him to want it.

It's something that Jared thinks a lot about on that first day with Jensen Ackles, as he feels his way around his role of jailor/caretaker. From Jensen he picks up a wide range of confused emotions, from fear to resentment to a strange sense of deference. The kid watches Jared with wary flickers from beneath the sweep of his heavy lashes, seemingly always aware of Jared's presence, like he's slowly reasoning what Jared will find allowable.

For Jared's part, he's just looking for a balance between control and bullying. After bandaging the kid's wrists, Jared urges the water and a few Tylenol on Jensen. He's suspicious of the pills and won't take them until Jared shows him the first aid package he ripped them free of. When Jensen continues to hesitate, Jared just stares him hard in the eyes and says, "Take the pills."

It's bizarrely satisfying when the kid complies immediately, tossing the pills back and following them with the last of his water.

Later, Jared tears off the duct tape binding Jensen's ankles and orders him off the bed, away from that corner where he's huddling. It isn't that Jared knows this kid in any real sense, knows only what he's read about, but Jared knows that he isn’t the cowering type. The shock of the situation is mostly to blame, and possibly the slight intimidation of Jared's constant and large presence, so it's more like Jensen is waiting for _permission_ to relax.

"Come on," Jared says, standing near the foot of the bed and motioning Jensen off of it with a waggling curl of his fingers.

"We going somewhere?" Jensen asks nervously, staying pressed tight to the wall, licking those chewed-pink lips of his. Jared has a minute to consider how chapped they'll get with all that abuse, even if he kind of likes how they stand out all plush and pillowy, a colorful contrast in the pale wash of Jensen's angled face. He makes a mental note to hunt down some chapstick later, Alona will surely have some she can spare.

When the kid squirms and shifts, tries impossibly to snug himself deeper into the corner, Jared realizes he's been staring, a bit blatantly. And Jensen must know what it means. He can't have gone his whole life looking like that and not gotten looks from other men. Jared feels only mildly guilty for it, but shakes himself mentally. He's not here to cruise the poor kid, he's got a job to do.

"Come on," Jared repeats himself, crooking his fingers again. At this point, he's wondering if he'll have to reach over the mattress and drag the kid away from the corner. He's not exactly opposed to the idea of getting his hands on Jensen, but it would be easier for everyone involved if he didn't have to.

In the end, Jared doesn't have to repeat himself again. Jensen makes a few awkward shifts, clumsily scooting his ass over the mattress without the aide of his hands. After a couple of seconds, he gives the effort up as lost and twists onto his knees to shuffle over to the edge of the bed. The image of Jensen Ackles on his knees is not something Jared's over-wrought libido needs right now.

Jared hooks a hand under Jensen's arm and helps him off the bed, supporting him while he gets his wobbly legs under him. Jensen's eyes seem to catch somewhere dead-center at Jared's chest, nervously avoiding eye contact. Moving his grip up and over Jensen's shoulder, Jared uses his touch to guide him towards the open doorway of the bathroom. The heat of Jensen's skin bleeds through the thin material of his shirt, firm muscle under the cupping pressure of Jared's palm.

Before the actual abduction, Jared and Chad had "baby-proofed" the bathroom, removing the door from its hinges, the towel-bars and the mirror above the sink from the walls. The toilet tank cover and seat are also missing, along with anything that could have been fashioned into a possible weapon. Unless the kid displays some sort of superhuman strength and rips the porcelain sink from the wall, there's nothing in the bathroom that he can use to bludgeon Jared to death.

There's only a shower curtain with colorful sea-shells hanging open on a flimsy, plastic rod, a blue toothbrush and a bar of soap laying behind the sink faucet. A new and freshly laundered washcloth lies over the rim of the sink.

Jensen looks around the room curiously when Jared urges him into the doorway, his eyes flitting all around, quickly assessing and noting the changes.

"Go ahead," Jared tells him, removing his hand from Jensen's shoulder and leaning his own against the door-jam to wait. "Brush your teeth, wash your face. You'll feel a little better after."

For just a second, Jensen hesitates, like he's expecting some kind of trick or trap waiting for him in the bathroom. Then he gives a short nod and moves over to the sink and reaches for the toothbrush and toothpaste. With his hands cuffed so closely together, Jensen fumbles, trying to twist his wrists to get a stripe of the toothpaste on the brush. His hands are still shaking a little and it's not helping matters.

Taking pity on the kid, Jared reaches over and gently removes the brush and tube from his trembling fingers. He quickly squeezes a thick glob of teal-blue over the head of the brush and hands it back to Jensen without a word. Silently, the kid accepts the brush and stares down at it for a moment. "Thank you," he finally offers in a rough whisper, voice strangely deep and gritty in a way that's at complete odds with the slender delicacy of his stature.

Apparently, brushing your teeth with your hands locked in cuffs is an awkward endeavor, if the slow, jerking motions of Jensen's hands are anything to go by. When Jared sees a warm, pink flush rise up Jensen's throat, he averts his eyes from the kid's obvious embarrassment.

Instead Jared slides his gaze down to the kid's slim hips, focuses on the way the brushed denim of the designer jeans he's wearing hug the curves of his thighs and perky ass. Lower still, Jared's eyes trail down the slight bow of Jensen's lean legs and land finally on the cuffs resting against the skin of bare feet. He fixes on the curl of Jensen's toes against the cool bathroom tiles.

At the sound of rushing water twisting on in the sink, Jared slowly peels his gaze away and lifts it back up to find Jensen bending over to splash water from his cupped hands over his freckled cheeks. It occurs to Jared that it might be a little unkind to watch the kid so closely. Jensen is already scared and the tension in his shoulders is proof that he's fully aware of Jared's inappropriately intense observation of him. But Jared lets himself justify this as just one of the aspects of his job.

Jensen dries his face with the washcloth and replaces it over the edge of the sink to dry. His eyes stay locked on the drain in the sink when he stutters out, "I have to- um- can you maybe?" The kid bites down on his lower lip _again_ , like he can't help drawing attention to that ridiculous mouth of his.

It occurs to Jared what the kid is asking and he can't really blame him. Taking a piss with some dude staring you down would probably be close to impossible. Jared gives the side of Jensen's averted face another long, hard stare. If he had to guess, Jared would say that the kid isn't thinking of trying anything stupid. There's nothing but a humiliated flush, an irritable jumping muscle in his clenched jaw. He seems a little pissed off, but more than that, he's still frightened.

He might be a kidnapper now, but Jared has never been mean. There might be some small part of him that's getting off on the control a little, but mostly he's feeling sympathetic. And maybe a little bit ashamed of himself.

"Okay," Jared finally relents. "I'll be a gentleman and give you a little privacy. But don't try and pull some Chuck Norris shit and make me regret it. I _really_ don't want to hurt you, Jensen."

Jared stares long enough that the kid gives him a nervous nod in answer before he slips out and leans against the wall right beside the door. It's a few long moments before he hears the telltale signs of Ackles relieving himself and Jared struggles with an embarrassing urge to peek around the edge of the door frame. He lets the back of his head fall and thud against the wall behind him. Jared can already tell this is going to be a really long day.

~*~*~

Time slows and drags when Jensen's world becomes four walls and one man. He loses track of the minutes and hours, days stretched long by silence and tension. There isn't much to hold their attention except the other, though Jensen is reluctant to engage in conversation with his kidnapper. Still, when the air gets heavy around him and the weight of Jay's stares becomes stifling, Jensen makes stilted attempts at speech.

At first Jensen asks questions. Of course he's curious what these people plan to do with him, what their goals are and their progress so far. The first answer Jay gives him makes Jensen reluctant to dig for further details.

"Of course we're not going to kill you," Jay tells him, slouching down low in the mauve chair, thighs spread casually wide, palms resting on his stomach. "That would be a waste of a valuable commodity."

Jensen shifts uncomfortably, sitting cross-legged on the mattress, back to the wall. He's stopped trying to wedge himself into the corner, but he still needs the solidity of the wall to prop and anchor him. When Jay tells him this, his eyes skim over Jensen, from face to bared feet.

"By now, I'm figuring your father's been told this," Jay continues with a smirk. "There are so many uses you can be put to. And if he's not willing to pay, there are plenty of people who will."

Jay leans forward then, meeting Jensen's eyes, elbows on his knees.

"What do you think Alan Ackles would find worse, Jensen? Having you sent back to him in bits and pieces? Or showing up a few years from now, seemingly whole, but mentally broken?"

Jay gives a negligent shrug and leans back in his chair.

"I bet there are people who would pay a king's ransom to do all kinds of nasty things to you, Jensen. Is Alan Ackles really going to want his little boy sent back to him defiled by a bunch of sexual deviants?"

They both fall silent again, Jensen swallowing back the urge to be sick and Jay watching him struggle not to squirm. After a few seconds, Jay lets out a low laugh. "Don't worry, kid," he says with a glimmer of amusement. "We're not really gonna sell you to human traffickers. But your daddy doesn't know that."

"So, if he doesn't pay, what _will_ you do with me?" Jensen asks.

Jay catches his lower lip between his flashing white teeth and skates his eyes over Jensen's body. "I'm sure we'll think of something."

And the rest of their time is spent a lot like that. Long bouts of silence, interlaced with some vaguely intimidating conversation. Jay stares a lot and Jensen finds himself looking back. He doesn't quite find the nerve to meet Jay's eyes most of the time, but his attention catches on long-fingered hands that seems restless, drumming on the chair arm, tugging at clothes and shifting through Jay's hair. Jensen gets the impression from this that Jay isn't normally the type to sit still for long.

Jay rarely leaves him alone in the room, and even then, only for minutes at a time. The monotony gets broken when their meals are brought to them with a tap on the door and Jay exchanging words with the person on the other side. Their voices are always pitched low enough that Jensen can never make out what's being said, but he hears the timber of the other person's voice, high and girlish. He imagines that Jay is being kept updated on their progress with his father and the ransom details.

Eventually, a deck of cards is delivered on the food tray. After Jensen struggles down a sandwich and some chips, Jay joins him on the bed. Jensen tenses a little at their proximity and the other man gives him another one of those smirks as he shuffles the cards. "Don't worry, kid," he tells Jensen, flicking the cards into a smooth bridge. "I'm just getting fuckin' bored. You know how to play Rummy?"

"Of course," Jensen snaps and stretches his hands irritably. The cuffs have never once come off in what's going on two days and they chafe like a son-of-a-bitch. His arms and hands cramp from being forced into one position for too long. "I grew up in a boarding school, not under a rock."

They pass the time playing hand after hand of Rummy, War and Poker until that becomes almost as boring as staring at the wall. They talk only a little bit more. Jay keeps on staring. Jensen gets used to it.

Jensen doesn't sleep much. He has a hard time staying relaxed enough to completely drift off. When he does, he's often jolted back to wakefulness from nightmares he can never remember. Once woken, Jensen finds that Jay has moved his chair up against the door, but at the slightest sound or movement from Jensen, his eyes always fly open, back to full alertness. If Jensen is made crankier by his sleep deprivation, there's some satisfaction in knowing that it's worse for Jay.

Sometime in the middle of the third day, at least Jensen's guessing it's the third day, Jay spends a little more time talking to the person on the other side of the door. Once Jay is finished and the door is locked back up, Jay places the food tray on the dresser and snags a cell phone that was placed by the orange juice glass. "We're gonna make ourselves a little home movie, kid," Jay tells him. "Do you wanna do this before or after you eat?"

"What kind of movie?" Jensen asks, shifting nervously back towards the corner.

"Your old man is asking for proof of life," Jay explains as he flips open the phone. It looks like one of those cheap disposable ones, Jensen never knew those things even came with video on them. There must be a good market for those in kidnapping rings, he thinks. "Just say a few words for the camera. Let him know how _terrified_ you are. Ask him to save you."

Jensen thinks about the man he calls Father, thinks about the years shipped off to boarding school while his kid sister lived warm and sheltered at home. He thinks of the proud handshake his father gave Josh on the day of his graduation, thinks of the way his mother gets snapped at for any sign of warmth she shows Jensen. When his father looks at Jensen, there's only cold disappointment, like he's failing in some grand way he'll never be able to understand. This is the reason Jensen was the wrong kid to abduct. He doubts there are many people who hate his father as much as he does.

"No fucking way," Jensen finally spits out. His tension pours away, loosening his limbs with warm anger. "I'm not asking that man for shit."

Jay's eyes widen with surprise and he snaps up to his full height, obviously startled by the fire in Jensen's tone.

"I don't care what you do to me," Jensen grits between his clenched teeth, pushing himself onto his knees, stance wide and defensive. "I'm not begging that man for my life. It's not fucking happening."

Jay slips the cell phone in his pocket and observes Jensen placidly. He hooks his thumbs into the edges of his pockets and tilts his hips in an easy stance, eyes narrowed and lips twitching with something like the slow sneak of a smile. If Jensen didn't know better, he'd say the look on Jay's face is respect.

"Gimme a second," Jay finally responds and then slips out of the room.

While Jensen waits for Jay to return, he clings to that spark of anger, stews in it. He's cooperated so far, has honestly been too scared to stir up a ruckus 'til now, but every part of him revolts at the idea of being made to simper for his father. There's no fucking way he's going to let his father see him any weaker than he already does. He won't prove his father right about him.

The door gets shoved open hard and sudden, Jay comes at Jensen fast and firm. Jensen tenses under the unexpected attack when Jay shoves him flat against bed, one huge hand on his chest, and the other wraps around his bicep. But Jensen has been nursing his fury this whole time and doesn't sit back and take it.

"Fuck you, let go of me!" Jensen shouts raggedly, writhing and bucking against Jay's hold on him. He's still cuffed and one of his legs is folded uncomfortably beneath him, but he struggles. Jay's too big and quick for him to fight, but that doesn't stop him trying. When his head is jerked back and a blindfold is pinned over his eyes, Jensen growls and doubles his efforts, trying to throw his elbows at Jay. "Fucking asshole, get off of me!"

Jay gets him pinned with a knee to his chest, getting the blindfold tied even as Jensen shakes his head furiously, trying to throw him off. The weight of Jay's body moves off of Jensen, but when he tries to sit up he's snagged from behind and pulled back into Jay's body.

"Let me go, you fucker!" Jensen growls, but as soon as his mouth opens it gets split open on a strip of cloth. Gagged. He's being gagged. Jensen tries to gnash his teeth closed, but Jay has too much leverage and just tugs it in, seals Jensen's tongue to the bottom of his mouth.

Jay doesn't knot off the gag, just holds Jensen back against him, like he's reining in a bucking animal. Through all of the anger and frustration and fear, Jensen can _feel_ Jay. He's furnace hot and powerful, hard muscles too strong for Jensen to fight. Without being able to see, Jensen's other senses kick in hard, touch and scent. With every harsh inhale, Jensen breathes in Jay, the musk of his sweat and spicy deodorant.

Jensen's struggles start to weaken, worn and wrung tired from the exertion. Just then, Jay says, "You got it?"

"Yeah," a feminine voice answers him from near the doorway. "He looks pretty _lively_ to me."

Hearing the other person's voice gives Jensen a second wind and he jerks harder against Jay's hold on him. The idea of there being a witness to this, of Jay subduing him like a fucking animal, infuriates and humiliates him. And for what purpose?

"I'll let you take care of this. Calm your boy down, Jay, before he hurts himself," the girl says and Jensen dimly hears the click of the door closing.

Jay releases the cloth across Jensen's mouth as soon as the door closes behind his accomplice, but slaps an arm around his chest like a band of steel. "Let me go," Jensen immediately spits out angrily.

"Soon as you chill out, kid," Jay replies, using his free hand to swipe the blindfold from his eyes. Jay represses Jensen's weak struggles with a squeeze around his torso, pulling him further into the curve of Jay's chest. Jensen shudders against him, barely twisting in the hold while he catches his breath and Jay smoothes his free hand over his sweaty forehead.

"You know what your dad's gonna see when he watches that video?" Jay asks, loosening his hold just enough that it barely feels restraining. Just holding.

"You making me your bitch?" Jensen ventures snidely, voice caught at the end on a cough ripped from his dry throat.

"He's gonna see you fighting," Jay says, tipping his head down, voice right in Jensen's ear. "He'll see you riled and pissed and struggling. He's gonna see your strength."

Jensen just deflates. He melts back against heat and hardness of Jay's body and stays there with his eyes closed, wondering how this man he barely knows, who abducted him from a nightclub and is keeping him against his will, could possibly know the exactly right thing to say to him.

[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/orbiting_saturn/pic/00004tba/)

~*~*~

Only hours after the video is taken, Jared sits across from Jensen, in a chair that feels like it's molding to his ass after the days he's spent sitting in it. Misha's reported back to Alona that Ackles is getting the money together and it's set to be transferred into the established account tomorrow morning. If things go as planned, tonight is the last night.

Jared's torn between relief and an inappropriate sense of disappointment. After tonight, he'll never get to see Jensen Ackles again. And he _likes_ seeing Jensen. He likes to look at him, isn't sure he could have gotten through these past three days, suffering the fear of getting caught, the shame of what he's doing, if he had been placed here with anyone else. There's something calming about being in Jensen's presence, something in the way Jensen's tacit compliance gives Jared the ability to maintain his control.

From the moment they took Jensen and closed the door between them and the rest of the world, they've both been caged here together. Jared would be prowling the room and climbing the walls by now if it weren't for Jensen, if it weren't for this impression that Jensen _needs_ him to keep it together for both of them.

But the hours are getting shorter and shorter and all Jared wants to do is reach out and touch. He had his hands on Jensen earlier, felt the weight of Jensen's body against his own and the way they fit perfectly against each other. Jensen had relaxed into him, like it was a relief to be there and for a second, it had seemed to Jared that he could have him.

Realistically, Jared knows that Jensen is just a frightened straight boy who's taking the only comfort he can find in an impossible situation. He's trusting Jared because he has to, not because he knows him. Sometimes though, Jared catches the kid watching him, looking at him with this sort of timid curiosity. It's fucking with Jared's head, the way Jensen's eyes land on him, find him like he's the only thing worth seeing in this tiny room. So, it's probably a good thing that they'll be released from their imprisonment soon, because Jared doesn't know how much longer he'll be able to keep from kissing Jensen Ackles' stupid mouth.

"Hey," Jensen breaks the silence, that sweet Texas boy drawl knocking Jared right out of his wandering thoughts. "Um, Jay?"

"Jared."

The word just tumbles right out of Jared's mouth, instinctually. It's a damn fool thing to do, give this kid his real name, but Jared isn't thinking straight right now. He just wants the kid to know some part of the _real_ him.

"Um, what?" Jensen asks, brows knit in confusion. He's sitting across from Jared, back to the wall, knees drawn up and cuffed arms resting on them.

"My name is Jared," he admits after a moment's hesitation.

"Why-" Jensen clears his throat, sucks his lips in between his teeth. "Why would you tell me that?"

Jared thinks for a moment, but decides he can't quite tell the truth. "You already know what I look like. I figure it doesn't really matter at this point if you know my name."

"Oh," Jensen mutters and there's something like disappointment in that one short syllable. Or maybe that's Jared fooling himself some more. "Oh. Okay."

"Did you want to ask me something?" Jared prompts Jensen when he just trails off.

"Um, yeah," Jensen hems slowly. "Do you think I could maybe, well, use the shower? It's been- what? – three days? I'm starting to feel pretty rank, man."

This kid can't be fucking serious, Jared thinks. Sure they've been holed up in this room for three days, two grown men, unwashed with the Florida heat bleeding through the walls. Both of them started getting kind of ripe after the first day. But Jensen getting naked anywhere near Jared is a colossally stupid idea. Jensen has to know that since Jared hasn't really made it any kind of secret that he likes the way the kid looks. Jared has been practically eye-fucking him since day one.

"Jared, please, man," Jensen cajoles tiredly. "I'm fucking disgusting and it's making my skin crawl."

Jared sighs and leans forward, elbows to knees. He wonders if this is some sort of test. Or maybe Jensen's just a prissy rich kid who can't get used to the thick feel of his own sweat on his skin. Maybe both.

"All right, kid, here's the deal," Jared starts out slow, eyes firm and focused on Jensen, trying to get a read on him. "I'll let you use the shower, but you stay cuffed the whole time. And I stay in the bathroom with you, so no getting all shy and delicate on me."

Jensen doesn't avert his eyes, but a pretty blush spreads over his cheeks. He also doesn't hesitate for long in his answer. "Okay."

Jared gestures for Jensen to proceed him into the bathroom and watches the kid climb awkwardly off of the bed. The denim of Jensen's worn-loose jeans stretches briefly across his firm, little ass and Jared's suddenly struck with the realization that he's going to see it bare in just a few minutes. Already his dick is taking interest. It'll be a miracle if he's not aching and dripping by the time Jensen's done with his shower.

In the bathroom, Jared draws back the shower curtain and gestures for Jensen to turn it on himself. He's still being cautious here. Jared may have a thing for the kid, but he's not putting his back to him any time soon.

With the shower running, Jensen turns back to Jared expectantly. He hesitates for a moment more, doubting the advisability of this plan, but finally Jared digs into his right pocket and pulls out the small key to the cuffs. "I'm going to take those off just long enough for you to get undressed. Don't try anything stupid, Jensen."

Just barely, Jensen rolls his eyes a little and holds his cuffed wrists out to Jared. The key turns and the left cuff opens with a snick, freeing Jensen's hands for the first time in three days. Almost immediately, the kid twists his hand on his wrist to relieve a little of the tension. Jared is braced for the kid to make a move that never comes.

"All right. Strip," Jared commands baldly. He's not sure where he gets the gumption from, Jared's never been the bossy type, but the situation calls for it and he's nothing if not adaptable.

"You gonna just watch?" Jensen asks, a wary look on his face, eyelashes fluttering prettily.

"What'd I say about getting shy?"

Jensen swallows and bites his lip _again_. It's one of those damnably sexy habits that the kid doesn't seem aware of or how much it drives Jared crazy. The cuffs jingle and clatter when Jensen brings his hands to the hem of his shirt, he takes a deep breath and peels it up and off in one swift motion. Just as quickly, Jensen pops the button fly of his jeans open and shoves them down to his ankles, along with his underwear.

There's nothing slow or teasing about the way Jensen strips, he just peels his clothes off as fast as a band-aid, kicks the puddle of his jeans away. But once he's bare ass naked, Jensen just stands still under Jared's gaze. The spread of Jensen's freckled shoulders is tense, his arms forced loose to his sides, but he makes no move towards the shower or to cover his nudity, just lets Jared look. So Jared looks.

Jensen's body is better than Jared even imagined, all warm skin flecked with pale freckles and dusted with light-colored hair. There's the rise of firm muscle, just hinting at how well the boy will fill out in the future, shoulders broad and waist tapered, thighs strong and legs bowed just above the knees. When he finally lets his gaze rest there, Jared is a little surprised to see that Jensen's dick is not completely soft. It's plump and filling out under the weight of Jared's stare, and when it gives a little twitch Jared swallows back a groan and snaps his eyes away.

Eyes at his feet, Jensen is waiting, waiting for Jared to say or do something. The urge to crush Jensen against the wall and start sucking marks into his skin is intense and almost infuriating, but Jared just reaches out and grabs his wrists. Jensen starts with a small jump at the contact, but remains passive while Jared draws Jensen's wrists back together, snapping the open cuff back around the left one.

"Go on then," Jared rasps and steps back until the backs of his calves hit the toilet. With one short pause, Jensen climbs into the shower and flicks the curtain closed. Jared lets out a small sigh of relief and sort of collapses onto the lidless toilet with his face in his palms.

Just over the sound of rushing water, Jared hears Jensen sigh, a long exhale of relief. It reminds him of the clinging film of sweat on his own body, the itchy, dirty feel of his skin and it makes him jealous. It's been three days since Jared has felt the cleansing ease of warm water, smelled the sharpness of foaming soap. And behind the curtain, Jensen's wet and naked body is like a siren's song.

"Damn it," he hears Jensen grumble.

"What's wrong?" Jared asks immediately, already half-risen from his seat.

"Have you ever tried to wash your body while hand-cuffed?" Jensen answers, voice a little tight with annoyance. "It's not exactly a cakewalk."

And with that, Jared's just over it. "Oh, for fuck's sake," he curses and drags his t-shirt over his head. There was never any chance he was going to win this battle.

~*~*~

The water feels amazing, just warm enough to keep Jensen's skin from bumping up with a chill, but cool enough to relieve the prickling overheated sensation he's been suffering for the past three days. The soap bar in his hand smells fresh and sharp, even if it's cheaper than the kind he's used to using. Problem is, he's twisting and contorting his arms in the most uncomfortable positions he can manage, but _still_ can't reach the places on his body where the sweat has gathered. His chest and face are clean, he even managed to lather up the damp place between his thighs, but forget cleaning his back.

He hears Jared's cursing response to his complaints, but Jensen keeps twisting himself uncomfortably to try and reach the small of his back. The shower curtain yanks back with such suddenness that Jensen nearly slips as he spins around, and just as fast Jared is there, crowding into the shower with him, miles and miles of naked tan skin.

"Jesus," Jensen gasps, backing into the opposite corner beneath the spray. "What are you doing?"

"I'm gonna take care of you," Jared answers, flicking the curtain closed behind him. Jensen swallows thickly, mouth suddenly desert dry as he takes in every inch of Jared's bared skin, top to bottom. "Give me the soap," he says, holding his hand out, palm up. Fucking massive hands, everything on him big and toned and so very much of him.

Jared's being nice this time, keeping his eyes solely on Jensen's face, but there's no reading the flat expression in his eyes.

"This wasn't part of the deal," Jensen ventures to point out. He's still backed into the corner, the spray of the shower separating them and falling in a wet crush over the ridiculous splay of Jared's abs.

"I'm renegotiating the terms," Jared answers, voice tight and clipped. He reaches past the spray, snatches the slick bar of soap from Jensen's slack hand and brings it up to his own chest. "You're not the only one whose been stewing in this heat, kid."

Jensen stands still and dripping, nudged up against the cool tile and watches while Jared washes himself. The water and soap slicks up Jared's smooth skin, all this that's been hiding under loose jeans and a thin t-shirt, hidden to Jensen until now. And Jensen has never thought of another man in any terms aside from basic aesthetics, but there's something immediate and exciting about Jared's body so close to him, so close and completely bared.

Jared cleans up with the soap fast and cursory, even scuffs the bar over the crown of his head and lathers his thick hair up. Only after he's done with his washing does Jared turn his attention back to Jensen, who's just been staring dumbly and silently willing his dick to stay impassive. It's not working all that well and he's plumped up to half-mast by the time Jared reaches out to him and tugs him with a slick grip to his bicep back under the spray.

"Your turn," Jared tells him, urging Jensen back towards the spray. Jared sounds perfectly calm and controlled, broad hands managing on Jensen.

As the soap comes down on Jensen's shoulder, glides across to the other with the flirting touch of Jared's rough fingertips, his head sags loose and heavy on his neck. A sigh slips past his lips, his body goes loose under the calming relief of relinquishing control, just letting Jared decide. Jared's free hand comes up in the mix, sliding the lather along the breadth of Jensen's shoulders, skin on his skin. It feels so fucking good, good and a little bit scary, like the first time Jensen slipped between the spread thighs of his first girl, only better, more intense.

Jensen leans into the touch as it ghosts further down, wide hands in the small of his back, just barely cupping the cheeks of his ass. They move all over him and Jensen lets his eyes just close, feels it all, down and around this legs. A moan slips free when they curve into the junction of his thighs, brief but _there_ , working thick suds into his pubic hair.

Jared washes Jensen's hair last, massaging the soap into his scalp with strong fingers. It makes Jensen looser, more pliant and he wavers on his feet so Jared steps in closer, braces up against Jensen's body, pressed tight from hip to shoulder. The soap's gone when Jared brings his hands back, gathering the clean water to rinse Jensen.

He's never been washed like this before, has never even showered so intimately with another person, and even though Jensen's heart is pattering jackrabbit fast, it's soothing.

"You feel nice," Jared says, tipping Jensen right into the spray so the water gushes down his face and all along the front of him. He peels away just far enough that the water can sneak between their bodies. "You _look_ amazing."

"Jared," Jensen sighs and falls back against him, head falling back against Jared's shoulder. "What- Are you-?" he stammers uselessly. He can't quite form a full sentence, isn't quite sure what he's asking here.

" _Fuck_ ," Jared growls close to Jensen's ear, one arm snaking around his waist to hold him tight and then there are lips and teeth at Jensen's neck. Grunting in surprised pleasure, Jensen arches back and nearly loses his footing in the slippery tub. Jared tightens his hold, keeps Jensen on his feet with a strong hold while he leans around Jensen to turn the shower off.

"Come on," Jared says, mouth smearing the words into the back of Jensen's neck.

Jared's hold doesn't relent as he maneuvers them out of the tub, dripping and clumsy on the tiled floor.

Jensen's more than a little scared, for sure, but he's not quite sure if that's why he's shaking. Could be the chill of the AC sliding over his wet skin, could be he's excited. He thinks it's a combination of all three. Jared is still pressed tight behind him, strong arms hooked under Jensen's and hoisting him to his tiptoes, walking him forcibly back to the bedroom. There's a voice in the back of Jensen's head telling him to fight it, to struggle a little, but he's nothing but pliant and moveable under Jared's manhandling strength.

There's nervous tension in the breadth of Jensen's shoulders and he's clasping his hands in front of him to keep the cuffs from pulling and cutting into his wrists. Otherwise, he's loose and trembling all over, letting himself fall back against the miles of Jared's hard body, feeling the firm jut of another man's prick nudging the crack of his ass. "Pretty little tease," Jared growls low and hot into the skin of Jensen's neck, days of stubble scratching and tickling. "Wanna mess you up so bad, get you pinned and wriggling under me."

A sound chuffs out of Jensen, a whimper really, caught somewhere between protest and desire. He can't reason out why the desire is there, head all fuzzy and not right since the moment he woke drugged and woozy in this room. Jared's teeth scrape along the side of Jensen's throat before his knees hit the edge of the bed. Jared holds him just there for a moment, rocking and clinging to Jensen, nosing and breathing against him in these damp little wuffs of air that have Jensen shaking. "If you want me to stop, you better say so now," Jared warns, sounding tense and hungry.

Jensen wavers, knees gone all melty and stomach tied in nervous knots. He can't bring himself to offer any kind of permission because, honestly, he's not sure he wants this to happen. And yet, neither can he seem to wrestle up a denial. Something in Jensen just wants to give Jared anything, even if it'll tear Jensen apart, hurt him or make him crazy, he wants to give it and give over to it.

When Jensen doesn't voice any complaints, Jared spins him around quick enough to get him dizzy and then his lips get smashed in a brutal kiss. It's rough and messy, all teeth and a hard probing tongue, nothing nice about the way it just opens Jensen's mouth and takes control of him. Jensen's hands get smooshed between their bodies, knuckles grinding into the rough cut of Jared's pelvis, just inches shy of the hard length of cock that's angling at him like a diving rod. Jensen's back gets bowed over one thick arm as the other squeezes between them to get a firm grip around Jensen's cock.

Jensen gasps and rears back for air, feels a punch of shame and arousal so intense his knees buckle completely. Jared holds him up effortlessly and smears a low laugh into the stubble-rough skin of Jensen's chin. "Like that?" Jared asks teasingly, huge hand squeezing and sliding over Jensen knowingly, fingers finding all the right spots and pressure just on the wrong side of too much.

Jared releases him before Jensen can embarrass himself by coming all over that massive, long-fingered hand. Jensen can't quite hold back a whimper of protest, but it gets muffled in another kiss. This one is slow and languorous, Jared's tongue sliding all smooth and clever over Jensen's, licking up against his palette, the soft inner-skin of his cheeks and lips, like he's exploring and learning every crevice. Like he wants to know every part of Jensen. Like just watching isn't enough anymore and he needs to crawl and claw over Jensen. Like he wants to get inside of him.

Seating himself on the edge of the bed, Jared grips Jensen roughly and pulls, drags Jensen down like a broken doll, splayed face first over the wide spread of Jared's lap. Chest pressed to Jared's muscular thigh, Jensen is laid out over him like a misbehaving child getting ready for a spanking. Struck with a teasing urge to really panic, Jensen wonders if Jared's going to swat his ass, he wonders if he even cares.

[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/orbiting_saturn/pic/000050d9/)

Jared's fingers barely get a grip on the short hair at the back of Jensen's head, but he can feel the pull in his scalp, tips his head back at Jared's urging. Wrapped in Jared's arms, laid out over the spread of Jared's thighs, Jensen squeezes his eyes closed. The tickle of Jared's spit-tacky lips catch Jensen's earlobe as he whispers, "Do you know what I want?"

Lip caught hard between sharp teeth, Jensen tries to nod but Jared's grip in his hair is tight enough to still the intended motion.

"Say it," Jared demands, nosing a line over Jensen's cheek, scraping a bite into the bolt of his jaw and Jensen's never felt anything quite like that. Or the proprietary hold on him. He's embarrassingly hard with no way to hide it, dick trapped against the meat of Jared's thigh so tightly he can feel the twitching muscles against his flesh.

"What do I want?"

Jensen shudders hard and tilts his face closer to Jared's. He can't say it, there's no way. But Jared wants him to and he's spent the last three days doing everything Jared asks. And now it's like he can't do anything else. "To fuck me," Jensen whisper-gasps, just barely audible. If they weren't pressed so close, there's no way Jared would hear him. "You wanna fuck me."

"Yeah, baby," Jared sighs, breath gusting over Jensen's face. Jared releases his grip on Jensen's hair, but his fingers glide and pet through it soothingly. "That's just what I want."

Jensen's head sags forward on his rag-doll neck, totally defeated and strangely mollified by the release in complete surrender, like some massive weight has been lifted. Jared can take anything from Jensen and whatever it is, it won't be too much.

Jared pets his fingers through Jensen's hair a little more, soothing and oddly tender, even as the arm still looped around Jensen's neck and shoulders remains hard and restraining. It isn't unbearably tight, doesn't cut off his air, but it’s a hold that reminds Jensen of his position, of the strength in Jared and how he could keep him there if he wanted.

"God, look at you," Jared sighs, almost reverent as his hand slips down Jensen's neck, slow over the curve in his spine. "So fucking pretty."

Jensen's been called 'pretty' before, and usually it pisses him right off, but he can't find any insult in the way Jared says it. There's nothing but a low growl of satisfaction in his voice, just an echo of the way he's been watching Jensen so very closely over the days, the way Jensen has existed only under the heavy stares and hungry glances.

Jared's hand dips lower and gets a grip on one of Jensen's ass-cheeks, gives it a firm squeeze that has Jensen groaning roughly. "Spread your thighs for me," Jared demands and skirts the tips of his fingers over the crack of Jensen's ass.

He knows exactly where this is going, but freaking out is out of the question at this point, so Jensen just does as he's told. His muscles tremble a bit, but Jensen spreads like a whore and shivers at the dry press of a fingertip on his hole. "Just relax now," Jared tells him.

Jared's hand abandons its prodding, but Jensen can hear the wet, slurping noise by his ear. Part of him wants to turn and watch Jared suck at his digits, but Jensen can't seem to peel his lids open, doesn't have the strength for lifting the impossible weight of his head. Jared is quick about it anyway and it isn't long before the fingers are back, wet with spit. Jensen can feel the tip of one gently circling his opening. His breath hitches and snags in his chest, gets punched all the way out when a finger breaches him fully, wriggles all the way in to the last knuckle.

Jensen hisses at the invasion, that strangeness of being stretched full. A cry gets caught in his throat when Jared's finger bumps against something deep in Jensen, shoots sensation straight to Jensen's balls. It makes him loosen up, spread his thighs further, inviting Jared to do it again, which he does. That finger circles and circles, skating over that sweet spot inside until Jensen is practically keening.

Another finger snags Jensen's rim, writhes forcefully until the tip can slip in, too dry to be comfortable and Jensen tightens up again. "Just take it, baby," Jared soothes, squirming the finger deep, slow and all the way in to scissor-stretch him.

"Gonna get my tongue in there, get you all wet and loose for me," Jared grits out, fingers twisting too tight in Jensen's body.

Jensen feels the blush spread over his face and neck, can't figure how there's still room for embarrassment when he's stuffed full of Jared's fingers. But Jensen wants it, every filthy promise Jared makes him in that gruff bedroom voice.

"Come on now, baby. Face down on the bed," Jared directs him, pulls out his fingers to guide him, halfway carry him up the bed. Jensen spreads his legs without being asked, propped on his elbows, cuffs pulled tight around his wrists. Jensen laces his fingers together, drops his head low, postured like an obscene prayer. Jared climbs up behind him, hands drifting over Jensen's inner thighs to pull open his cheeks.

A wet line is licked from Jensen's balls to his crack, back down to circle his hole. It feels freaky and amazing, wet and plush where the fingers had been dry and hard. Jensen melts against the bed, feels the flat of Jared's tongue against him, wetting him up as it spears to a point and nudges itself inside. Jared's thumb comes into play, tip catching and pulling the rim open to get his tongue in further, all the way, so deep he feels teeth flush with his ass.

That thumb corkscrews its way in, right alongside Jared's tongue. Combined, the two make Jensen's nerves zing, loosen him up and leave him panting into the bedspread. Jared hums and Jensen feels that too, feels it all the way to his bones. It's all wet and messy back there where Jared's mouth works him, another finger sneaking in to tug and stretch Jensen's muscles too far, impossibly wide.

Jared pulls off with a gasp, cool air hitting the wetness left behind. "Look at that," Jared says reverently, dipping two fingers into Jensen's hole. "All ready for me."

Keeping his fingers stuffed deep inside, Jared crawls up to his knees, wraps an arm around Jensen's waist and hoists him up. Thighs spread wide, Jensen lets Jared haul him ass-up into his lap. Eyes squeezed shut, Jensen's given himself over to touch and sound, and now he hears the sloppy noise of Jared spitting into his palm and slicking it over his dick- _Jared's dick_ \- which is frightfully large. "Oh, god. Oh, fuck," Jensen mutters senselessly, twisting his face into the sweat slick muscle of his own shoulder.

Jared pulls his fingers out, but they're immediately replaced with the pressure of his wet cock-head. It pops right in, past the tight ring of muscles and Jared bears down on him.

It fucking _hurts_. He's stretched _so_ wide, opened up on the fat, long length of Jared's cock spearing into him. Jensen can feel everything, every twitch and pulse of Jared's flesh, every clench of his ass around it. It hurts, but it's _good_. He's holding Jared tightly, opened up for him, giving him what he's wanted this whole time.

Jared rolls his hips, moves inside of him, a stinging shift of skin catching skin. Not slick enough for comfort, but the burn goes all the way to Jensen's gut, slinks down to his tight balls. Jensen's cock went a little soft after the first push, but it's filling out again, blood throbbing while Jared takes him slow and easy.

"God, Jensen," Jared breathes hotly, arm like a band of steel across Jensen's chest. "You're so good for me, baby. So fucking tight."

Short, deep thrusts moving into him, all the strength of Jared's massive body across Jensen's back, coiling tight for each rock of Jared's hips. Each pull and push a little bit longer than the last, slow steady movement, like Jared is savoring the feel of him, dragging it out.

"Touch yourself for me," Jared commands, pulling Jensen up to his knees until he's straddling Jared's lap, back to front. The new position slides Jared deeper still.

Jensen wraps both his hands loosely on his dick, arm muscles bunched and tight, but no need to stroke. He lets Jared's thrusts guide him, push his hips up into the circle of his fingers so good he starts to leak from the tip.

When Jared tightens both arms around Jensen's torso, snaps up hard, it changes the angle and hits that sweet spot. The cry that spills out of Jensen clues Jared in and he speeds up the rhythm, cock nudging and bumping _right there_ on every pass. It gets harder and faster when Jensen starts moaning, his helpless sounds spurring Jared on, mixing with the dirty noise of their skin slapping.

Jared's dick is so big, as long as his thrusts are he never pulls out more than halfway on any thrust. It keeps Jensen nice and filled, has him arching back, canting his hips all slutty and needy. It still stings, but the pain makes it better, makes it gritty and brutal, like two men fucking should be.

Jensen can feel his orgasm coming, sailing down his spine, drawing up his balls. The touch of his fingers is barely there, just enough pressure to bring it faster, but he thinks he could probably come on Jared's cock if he had the strength to resist the awful urgency. He doesn't, so Jensen grips a little tighter, lets Jared fuck him into his hands until he clenches up, tight, tighter, tightest, and starts to pulse. Jensen's flesh swells in his palms, goes hot all over and streaks the bedspread in shots of come.

Still milking the aftershocks, lip bitten bloody, Jensen feels Jared pitch him forward and pull out suddenly with a whining groan. His hole flutters and twitches around the empty space, but Jensen feels the hot splatter on his rim, over his spread cheeks. Jared marks him all over, coming on Jensen's over-heated skin, while he chants his way through it, "fuck, fuck, fuck," over and over, 'til they're both wrung completely out.

Jared falls to the side, collapses on his back beside Jensen, dragging in gasps of air. Jensen's flattened in the wet spot of his come, breath matched to Jared's, just as desperate and shaky. Before their breaths even out, Jared is reaching for Jensen, rolling him on his back, half over the wild spread of Jared's body. Jensen goes to him easily, head falling crookedly into the curve of Jared's neck.

While they breathe through it, Jared's hands drift lazily over Jensen's sweaty body, stroking him with the ease of ownership. He spreads the moisture of come on Jensen's belly, works it into the skin where it will dry and harden later. So much for that shower, Jensen thinks, a little deliriously.

They lay like that for a long while, even after they come down, Jensen melted into Jared's side, one leg thrown over Jared's.

"You get to go home tomorrow," Jared finally breaks the silence, fingers playing aimlessly in Jensen's hair. "As long as everything goes to plan."

Jensen's doesn't know how to respond. A huge part of him is relieved, glad to be away from these four walls so much like a prison. Another part of him gets tightened up with unease, knowing that he'll never see Jared again once this mess gets wrapped up. Jensen never really expected his father to pay, and somewhere in the back of his head, he saw this becoming the rest of his life. Nothing but one room and Jared.

Jensen won't miss the room at least.

~*~*~

Jared hates his new name and thinks Misha came up with something appalling just to screw with him. Luckily, Jerome Tyler can still be shortened to JT, but that doesn't stop him feeling ridiculous every time he flashes his new I.D.

He loves everything else about Montreal. Loves the people and speaking his broken French. The natives don't mind that he botches every other sentence because they're nice and easily charmed by his smile. But if he's being completely honest with himself, there is one thing that could make living on the lam better. _Jensen_.

Jared can't quite work out in his head how the kid managed to get so far under his skin in just the space of a few days, but he did.

He's only been in this city for three months, three months since his share of the ransom was transferred into five separate accounts, all of which Misha worked his hacker magic on to make look completely legitimate. Three months and two days since the last time he saw Jensen and he's still managed to think of that bitchy little pretty boy at least once a waking hour. Nothing seems to distract him from it and Jared is starting to wonder just how long before it wears off.

Hunching over his laptop at a table in his favorite coffee shop, Jared lets his eyes glaze over and he drifts back to that night before Jensen's release, that night he spread the kid out and had him in as many ways as he could manage. As far as persistent memories go, this one is a pretty nice one to keep, even if it does leave Jared with a crazy-making sense of longing.

The ringing of his cell phone jars Jared out of his daydreaming with a surprised jerk. Glancing down at the screen, he sees an unknown number pop up on his screen. It's a New York area code, which means it can only be one person. Misha hasn't called him at all since he crossed the border into Canada and Jared is nervous about picking up, but he can't avoid the call, it might be something he needs to know.

"Hello?" Jared answers on the fourth ring.

"What'd you _do_ to that kid, JT?" Misha immediately asks without preamble.

"What do you mean, what did I do? Nothing!"

"Reeeeally?" Misha drawls out, disbelieving and suggestive.

There's a long pause, like Misha is actually expecting Jared to have a response for that. When he doesn't, Misha just says, "You know, the kid never I.D.'d you?"

Misha never gives Jared the chance to respond, just disconnects the call.

Jared stares at the phone in disbelief for a full minute before shoving it back in his pocket. Jared's distracted enough by the call, that he doesn't feel comfortable sitting out in the open of the coffee shop anymore. He gets this way sometimes, this irrational feeling that everyone around him must know exactly what he's done. Times like these, Jared wants nothing more than to hide away.

Packing up his laptop and polishing off his coffee in one long gulp, Jared leaves the café and walks the two blocks back to his apartment faster than he should. His speed makes him feel even more conspicuous, but his nerves won't slow him down.

Jared's apartment is on the second floor of an old, but renovated building. It's a high-end place, but not ostentatious and Jared is very fond of the place and his neighbors. It isn't quite Texas hospitality, but in a lot of ways it's better.

When he hits the top step to the second floor, Jared stops dead in his tracks and gapes in equal parts amazement and horror. Jensen Ackles is leaning casually against the wall by Jared's front door.

The two of them stare at each other for a long, tense moment. It's somehow just like all of the silences they shared all those months ago, but heavier, more immediate. There are about a thousand questions Jared wants to ask, but right now Jensen looks like everything Jared has wanted desperately for the last three months.

Jared might have the situation all wrong in his head and, if he does, he'll happily accept the consequences of his actions, but right now, there's no way he isn't gonna take exactly what he wants. Letting his laptop bag drop to the ground with a troubling thump, Jared closes the space between him and Jensen and takes the kid's mouth. He fills his hands and arms with all the smooth, hard lines of Jensen's delicious body and takes it all. There'll be time for talking later.

~*~*~

End


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